


Reticulum

by Ilovehighhats



Series: Constellations [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovehighhats/pseuds/Ilovehighhats
Summary: Reticulum - a net, or crosshairs.In which one learns to aim for the stars. And stars teach that sometimes they aim back.





	1. Brown

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this way too long.

John Brown wasn’t always John Brown.

For instance, he was born Ricardo Sanchez. Not too daunting a name. So, when he used to be a CIA operative he worked under several aliases: Tim Perkins, Paul Schwartz, Karim Sayif.

He considered himself a patriot. That’s why after Joker’s attacks on Gotham he felt the need to do more. Being one of the dozens of unimportant agents, stationed in an unimportant country, tracking as it ultimately turned out insignificant people… That wasn’t enough. He wanted to be someone who could do things really ensuring the safety of his compatriots - both domestic and abroad.

This is how he ended in DHS. The Department of Homeland Security, still shiny and new and building up its ranks. Brown fit right in, with other idealistic hotheads and solemn gruff men.

Bane’s siege of Gotham was the event that shook him to his core again. All those unimportant people he used to trace, suddenly were way more threatening than he could ever imagine. Led by one of the goons who, back in his CIA days, seemed trivial and inferior. Who names himself Bane? Is every third-country warlord or a mercenary worth the hassle of a laborious operation prepared to infiltrate his organisation? When there are coups, civil wars, genocides and other atrocities, all around? 

James used to think of those people as lesser men. He read an account once, of a woman kidnapped, abused, tortured until she didn’t even resent her abductor and it only solidified this conclusion. Animals. There were exceptions, there were reasons and explanations, but ultimately he didn’t care. Not unless they were big names with prospects of big promotion attached to their file.

Bane was one of those unimportant meagre mercenaries to him.

That is, until League of shadows, under his command, invaded his country.

He found all the faults and flaws of his understanding of the importance of marked targets. He learned how dangerous a mass of anonymous savages could be when led by a madman. The worst part was, he encountered Bane before and thought him ridiculous and inconsequential.

He was there for his colleagues whining over a witness who apparently suffered a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. But neither them, nor their superiors felt the need to waste their time and resources on some hired gun working in forgotten parts of the world. After all, there were coups, civil wars, genocides and other atrocities to be taken care of... 

But then the forgotten came to their home and mangled its shiny city. Gotham was in ruins. Saved in the last minute by a vigilante, no less. The animals who Brown hunted down held the entire nation hostage and the government danced to their tune, scorned and shamed by the world. Their president, a figure of contempt between the leaders, thrust down from his pedestal of the leader of a free world.

Some leader, with a foreign terrorist cell right in the middle of his lands, occupying a city, gambling with millions of lives. For months. To all those atrocities that were happening beyond blown up bridges, the country sends only one group of operatives. And they were unsuccessful, their lifeless bodies hanging for all to see, displayed as yet another mockery, right in their face.

Batman’s rescue of Gotham was a fluke. Brown promised to himself he would never let a criminal seem too unimportant to catch.

And he’d start his penance with making sure his biggest mistake was really dead and buried.

oOo

There was no body. 

Brown read through all of the reports on Bane and his activities during the siege. The last day he has seen people reported him fighting the police and Batman, an old-fashioned brawl on the steps of City Hall. Stupid. Bane was not a stupid animal, he was cunning, so why did he go along with that pitiful last stand of Gotham's finest? Why did he lose control of his city? Where did he go?

There weren’t many leads in his investigation, most of them have been thoroughly followed by his predecessors who took Bane more seriously. Like Bill. Until recently no one knew that Bane was the one responsible for Bill Wilson's death, that he orchestrated the crash of the plane in Uzbekistan, he faked Pavel’s death. The mercenary must have known of Wilson's obsession with him, and he used it to his advantage, killing two birds with one stone. Now, Brown was left with boxes of information that was carefully and systematically checked.

There was one nugget of possibility left, though.

The scribe, the one who was abducted by Bane and then left in a hospital in Armenian countryside. A very unusual thing to do for any kidnapper, and especially for someone as meticulous and organised as Bane. Brown read her files over and over again, and he saw all the blunders his fellow agents did. How they let her lie blatantly to their faces. How they misplaced tapes and left him only with copies of transcripts, old and faded. How they left big unanswered holes in her testimony. How no one followed up on the facts, she did provide.

He used up his vacation days to visit the hospital and the doctor who treated her. He found the monastery. 

No leads were left there.

The doctor wasn’t eager to cooperate, and Brown did not have any means of making him talk. The monastery was inhabited by monks, and they didn’t let him walk around and check the rooms he read about. 

This was a wild goose chase. The only foothold he had was the scribe. So he went to talk with the woman herself.

Norway was beautiful. He fell in love with deep sky over his head, the rolling clouds and tempestuous see in harmony even though they were ever changing. It was damn expensive though, and he wondered how a scribe could afford a stated of the art house out in the country, in what looked like a very prosperous place. Granted, the cottage wasn’t very big, but it was very obviously new and packed with all amenities, and to top it off designed by someone minimalistic and practical.

In other words, it must have cost a fortune, and not a small one.

He parked his car way down and had a nice stroll first on the tarmac road, and then up some steps. Broad wooden planks were first, then the path wound down to flat stones, and the entryway was hidden between a wall of natural rock and the glass panel of the house itself. Hidden from view, secluded and cosy.

He knocked and heard a faint woman's voice reply, 

“Come in!”

The door opened easily, and he tentatively peeked inside.

“Mrs Wolf?”

There was a murmur of fabric somewhere to his left, and he stepped in to get a better look. His host was in bed, weirdly raised way above the level of the house, clearly waiting for someone else than him.

Awkward.

She had a coughing fit which let Brown look around the house undisturbed. It looked like she was alone.

“Who are you?” She wheezed out eventually. “I was actually waiting for a friend to pick me up, I don't have much time before my visit to the doctors.”

“I see. My name is Brown. I'm with Homeland Security.“ He tried to be as pleasant as possible. This was his only lead.

The woman scoffed.

“Homeland,“ she practically spat. “Wouldn’t it be easier to understand if you said you’re with US Government?”

“Perhaps,” he said to placate her. He read the reports by other agencies and knew that she could be openly hostile. “I was wondering if we could have a talk. When you get better, of course.”

“Concerning what?” 

“Bane.”

He observed as her face solidified into a stagnant mask. Was this trauma of the abduction, or was she hiding something else?

“Why would you want to talk with me about a dead man?”

“A missing man,” he corrected.

“Why would you want to talk with me about a missing man then?” 

This was too much to be just a reflexive reaction to having her peace disturbed. She was hiding something. She knew something.

“I think you are a person he might want to contact.” The try was a gamble. It was true, and he did think that Bane could contact her, however, he left his cards too exposed if she was a seasoned liar and manipulator.

“He didn't through last ten years. I'll let you know if he changes his mind. Leave a card on the stairs please.” The dismissal was plain to see.

He wanted to try one more time to placate her. He could work the information out.

But then the door at the front of the cottage opened, glass panels sliding without effort, and in came a tall man. Like he was at home here.

“Helena,“ he greeted the host but kept his eyes firmly on Brown.

He came through the terrace. Thick scarf peeked out from a navy blue jacket, jeans were tucked in big brown boots, messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. He looked harmless enough, especially when he moved, wobbling carefully closer, the pain of every step visible in a rigid way he held himself.

But there was something off. His eyes were too sharp. Too familiar.

“We should go soon,“ he said. Nodded at Brown. “Tony Dorrance.“

“John Brown.”

Neither offered a hand to shake, but they kept observing each other.

What was it about this guy?

“You better go,” Dorrance said. His voice had an edge to it, a glimmer of certainty and command that was not meshing well with the image of a tired scholar. 

The woman had another coughing fit, so Brown just nodded and left.

He would try to contact the woman again, and until then he will be mulling over that man. Who was he exactly?

oOo

Anthony Dorrance was an interesting man.

He was the person Helena Wolf talked about when she rambled on to him about her precious friend left to die in Gotham. Did she really believe what she said? Was she delusional? 

Did Dorrance was such masterful manipulator he could pretend to be two people at the same time?

Brown started the work on him the usual way. Databases had the most rudimentary info; DOB, education, some jobs, some things he wrote. But it got interesting when he got to the pictures. The scars hinted at life way more interesting than the one portrayed in his files.

So he started working the man backwards.

He was in Norway for only a few weeks. Arrived with a plane from London. Both cottages were his, acquired a few years prior, so that wasn't suspicious in the least. What was, however, was how he got them. It turned out that the guy was not only a talented physicist but also a historian. Dealing with antiquities; old books and manuscripts mostly.

Suspicious.

Brown tried to trace his moves before London, and there he struck gold. The guy appeared in Azores two months after Gotham. But prior to that? A big black mysterious hole. He was in Gotham until May the previous year, but there was no movement in the months leading to the occupation of the city.

Was he there?

His name was on the list of suspected victims, struck down when he reported back to the British consulate on San Miguel. 

How did he get from a besieged city to an archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic? And no less than five weeks after the occupation was thwarted? Why? Why didn’t he report to the authorities in the USA? Why wasn’t there any mentions of him crossing the border before the Azores?

Very suspicious.

Brown tracked Dorrance’s history backwards all the way down to his birth, but it didn’t yield much good. 

He turned back to the Gotham episode. He turned up the photos and compared.

Did his eyes resemble Bane’s?

oOo

Much to Brown’s dismay, the forensic facial comparison was a flop. 

Bane’s face was hidden by the mask the only visible parts were his eyes and two lines extending over them up to the middle of his head. Not nearly enough for any comparison. 

But his gut told him he was onto something.

He decided to approach this problem differently. He had a plethora of Bane’s pictures, so he gathered all the ones of Dorrance too and tried to see if there were any similarities. He found some, but not many. The slope of his shoulders, perhaps. His pointed stare, and the colour of his eyes. 

Even to himself, all of that sounded pathetic.

Once, in the middle of the night working an entirely different case, he remembered a detail. Gotham’s police commissioner had a run in with Bane, just before the siege.

Brown went to interview Gordon, which turned out to be a bizarre experience.

“So you're saying kid, that he isn't dead?”

“He is presumed dead, and I would like to make sure of it. There was no body.”

“Yeah, like with Batman.”

“Exactly. Do you remember anything that could help identify him?”

Gordon scoffed, looking over the city. He invited Brown to the roof, which seemed odd at first. Even more so when the agent noticed brand new Bat-Signal waiting in the corner, the lamp pointed upwards, ready to call in a hero.

But he was dead. Wasn’t he?

“So many people focused on his bulk… I see what you're doing here, kid. You have good instincts.” The commissioner shook his head, trying to grasp faint wisps of recollection.

“Let me walk through what happened there. I went in pursuit down to the sewers. Two guys with me. Some idiot started shooting, and I don't know what blew up, but there was a big explosion. I was overwhelmed and got a nice hit to the head. If I were younger by twenty years then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Well, they dragged me down the tunnels and brought to Bane.”

He stopped and frowned deeply.

“He was crouching, shirtless. There was a scar running the length of his spine, a nasty, ropey thing. No marks on his chest, as far as I could see. Some burns on his shoulders, but old and faded. I didn't get a long look at him, I was pretending to be dizzy. But what I remember the most is how enormous he seemed. Raw and brutal power radiating off him. Later, when I watched him on the television, he was still formidable, but I can't shake this dread that I felt then. Because he was terrifying even when relaxed.”

This was pure gold.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

“You don’t think he’s dead, kid, do you?”

“I don't. There is a lead. A woman he might have wanted to contact.”

“What woman would be with a monster like that?”

“Maybe she’s a monster too.”

“Maybe.”

oOo

Armed with information from Gordon, Brown started working on Dorrance full time. He screened all of his accounts, all of his books, everything he could find on the man.

He was squeaky clean. Too clean to be genuine.

The fervour of righteousness burned in his chest, the elation propelling him forward. 

His work suffered, but Brown was sure that finding Bane was imperative. Proving that Dorrance was him. That the terrorist who planned to kill millions with a bomb was alive and living peacefully, while all those families of thousands of his victims despaired.

And then he got a visit that stoked his conviction even more, that motivated him to try harder still.

He was looking at pictures of Dorrance, the scientist caught unawares shopping and walking around town. The last of the work Brown managed to squeeze while he still was in Norway.

Then someone brought a bag over his head and bound his wrist behind the chair. So fast he barely could comprehend what happened before he was panting quickly into the rough fabric scratching his nose. He couldn't see a thing but felt a presence shift beside him.

“You are investigating Bane,” the person said. It was a man, and he had some weird piece of tech that made his voice unrecognisable. Growling lowly, threateningly.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Batman,” the man said.

“Batman is dead.”

“As is Bane.”

“I have evidence that he may be alive.”

“I saw him die.”

“Did you check his body?”

“He was struck by a rocket, straight in the chest, then propelled ten feet away with a blast. He can’t be alive.”

“How are you not dead then?”

“A trick.”

“Are you the only person in the world capable of such tricks?”

There was no answer. He struggled against his bounds and found out that the knots were loosely tied. On purpose.

When he took the bag away, he was once again alone in the room. 

Some of Bane’s pictures were missing.

oOo

The second visit to Norway was official. Brown showed his findings to his bosses and implored. He just needed to check. To make sure. What if it turned out that this guy was somehow connected to Bane? He didn’t tell them outright he thought Dorrance was the masked man, he had enough clarity of mind not to sabotage himself this way. But he plotted and schemed. The proof that tipped the scale was Dorrance’s scientific work. 

Brown convinced his people that is was all coded messages to terrorists.

The antiquities were an obvious giveaway of laundering money too.

But before the bureaucratic machine was moved into action, he wondered whether to give Mrs Wolf one last chance at redemption.


	2. Into the Crosshairs

On the next morning after the fateful day when they learned of Anna's death, Bane sat Helena down in his living room and started an in-depth questioning. 

Each and every person at the Easter table was carefully investigated and scrutinised, all findings noted in meticulous detail, and pinned to the wall outside Bane's bedroom. Out of sight of prying eyes, but readily available for him or Helena, if she chose to add any information she previously omitted.

As it turned out Bane, as it was, knew an insane amount of details about Helena's life, and by extension her friends. But there were blanks, all the more noticeable for his experienced and brilliant mind.

“So, Lucy and Tom, you’ve never met them before.”

“That's right. And I didn't really talk much with any of them during the brunch. Tom mentioned he's working on a novel about living out in the woods. A ‘Walden’ of sorts, I think? Lucy was too far away, and since they came late and then the whole ordeal with Anna began I didn't have an opportunity to engage any of them properly.”

“He's been truthful about his occupation, but she has some interesting things in her resume,” Bane commented, but ignored Helena curious gaze and moved on with his questions. “Next, our thespian,” he spat the last word with distaste. “What do we know of Alex? Of course there is a trove of information on his personal life online.” He clicked his teeth and winked to snickering Helena. “But we need something less common and more substantial.”

“He's gay,” Helena supplied. “All those rumours of dates with models and fellow actresses is just publicity. He wants to build his fanbase as wide as he can.”

“Indeed?” this time Bane's tone in voice was unusually gleeful.

A small smile graced Helena’s lips. 

“Were you jealous of him?”

“That scrawny little pest? Of course not,” he replied with a derisive snort.

“Of course not,” the scribe mocked. “Who's next?”

“Magnus.”

“Met him for the first time, but Grace and Graham mentioned the boy frequently. He's from a very low-income family, a single parent I think. Grace mentioned something about a very old acquaintance. They finance his studies, which basically means they pay his monthly expenses. I don't know the details.“

“Perhaps they would like to correct an aspect of this society that isn't to their liking.“

“What do you mean?”

“You may remember I noticed that the brunch was like a scene from a novel. Let's talk about our gracious hosts. Both are over their sixties. There is a longing there, a nostalgia for what had been. They're playing bridge. No one plays bridge anymore.”

“They're charming people,” Helena argued. She knew them for years now, and always could rely on Grace’s motherly advice or Graham’s generous hand with alcohol. 

“Did you know that Graham was a high ranking officer in CIA?”

“I thought he was some kind of retired chemistry professor.”

“He is. A person can be more than one thing.”

“None of them ever mentioned anything of the sort. Do you think Grace knows?”

“She disabled perimeter detectors that day when she came to invite us to brunch.”

The information visibly shook the scribe. 

“You have that kind of security?“ she gasped.

“We have,” Bane corrected pointedly. “And I've replaced them and changed the pattern to something she wouldn't know. added some new toys as well,” he murmured the last part tapping a finger to his lips pensively.

“Oh, my.”

“You thought Grace was just a homemaker.”

“When they lived here we visited each other very frequently. She had never been anything other than friendly, pleasant and appropriate. She does charity work, and has some innocent pastimes.”

“Did you ever take her to the shooting range?”

“No. I go alone. For a while, I used to go with a friend, but it was only because I met him there already.”

That piece information caught Bane’s attention enough to make him swirl around to face Helena again.

“Who?”

“Weren't we supposed to talk about people at the brunch?”

His eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly let go.

“We'll get to that later, then. So, Grace and Graham are a veritable mystery to you. Our friendly policeman and his family, do they have any secrets or peculiarities?“

“Tirill works with Anna at the school. And they both have tried to convince me to start calligraphy workshops for kids. Jack is mostly out in Oslo, studying. When she comes on weekends, we sometimes see each other at Hanson’s, but that's that. “

“You didn't mention anything about Knut.“

“Nothing to say. How did you know him?”

“We met when I first came here to buy the land, and then when I was building cottages.”

“Did he see you without the mask back then?”

“Yes.”

“That's wonderful.“

“I'm glad you're happy about it. “

“No, I'm serious. Look, that story about you studying in Hong Kong and then working as an antique dealer, and now making the people here know and remember you before Gotham! It's the best cover!”

“Most of that was true.” The sofa dipped when he sat down with a small grunt. “The point of our little exercise here is to sow the oats of the official facade, and get to the truth underneath.” 

The remainder was sobering. It was just as Bane said. The truth could be hidden beneath what was apparent and ostensibly obvious. Even though he was an astrophysicist and a historian he also was a terrorist and a killer. 

“Who do we have left?” she asked with a tired sigh.

“Sven and Anna.”

The spite in Bane’s words reminded Helena of his terse exchange with the medic at the brunch.

“What do you have against my good doctor?”

“Nothing. What gave you the idea I have anything against the man?”

“Dorrance, you said to him. Not Tony, like you introduced yourself to others. Why single him out?”

“Alex and Magnus also didn't get to call me by my first name.”

“Oh, but Lucy did feel right at home calling you Tony,“ she pointed out.

“I didn't notice.”

“Right.”

Bane hid a satisfied curl of his lips.

“Is there anything at all you think is relevant regarding Anna or her father?”

“You know, I always thought she was a tad closer to Graham than Grace. It was subtle but seemed like whenever I visited she was keeping close to him. Nothing overt. Maybe it was because Grace is such good friends with Sven. Come to think of it, I would not be too fond of listening to my parents' chit-chat, so that's probably it.”

“Probably.” 

“Why are you asking me all those questions?”

“I told you. One of the guests at the brunch may have been a killer. I won’t stand to have someone like that near you.”

“Is that all? You’re wasting your time and considerable mind power to maybe find a perpetrator of a possible crime. Because as far as I know, it was an accident, wasn’t it? Listen, time is the most precious of resources. We all have a finite amount of it. Even the most brilliant of geniuses,” she sent him a pointed look, “has the same twenty-four hours in a day, as we all do. You could leave the police work to the police, and focus on your dark matter or whatnot.”

“Dark waves,” he corrected gruffly. “Let’s consider this my hobby.”

“An escape from the tedious day job?” She laughed.

“Something like that.” Bane gathered her close, and kissed her temple, then hid his nose behind her ear and inhaled the fragrance of her hair deeply. “It will help me stay calm.”

Helena couldn’t argue with that.

oOo

On Wednesday Helena went out with Bane as he was leaving for his pilates class. She had a date with Grace right after and needed to do some shopping in the free hour she’d get before the class ended. Then it was an afternoon of helping with the funeral affairs, the notices, the flower arrangements, the musicians. All that tedious and costly work that needed to be done, but no one ever wanted to actually take care of.

And then there was the prospect of a visit to the chapel, to seal the casket after a short ceremony for the closest family. 

In the church there was only Sven, sobbing quietly on Grace’s shoulder. Helena was standing awkwardly beside them feeling like a third wheel. The doctor left some trinkets on Anna’s chest, and both women put in a simple rose each, and then it was done. The scribe didn’t even listen to the priest, the prayers foreign to her not only because of the language but also because she felt them unnecessary.

She remembered when she thought that Bane and Dorrance were both dead, back when she didn’t know she was actually mourning one person. The trips to the sea were her prayers, steely sky and stormy sea her church, cold sand under her feet was her pew. The wind howled a requiem every day, and the vastness of the water reflected how empty she felt. Everything was hidden beneath the waves, and the surface looked as if no life was there. Only different brands of emptiness.

Grace’s palm at her shoulder brought Helena out of her musings, and she sent a pale grimace resembling a smile Sven’s way. He nodded and left with the priest, while Grace hooked her arm with Helena's and started the opposite direction, out the main entrance and into her car.

Drive to Helena's cottage was mostly silent.

“She was so young,” Grace said while waiting for the lights to change.

Helena looked over and saw that the older woman’s eyes were glued to a pair of people sitting on a bench. They were kissing. Despite the cold, the girl had a simple dress on, and the boy didn't have a proper coat. But they looked comfortable and happy.

“Reckless,” Grace added. 

Helena observed her when the light changed, and the car moved obediently forward under the experienced touch. 

“Why do you say that?”

“Say what?”

“That Anna was reckless. She seemed pretty dull to me, actually.”

“She had her little secrets. Still wet behind the ears, but thought she was an old dog.”

The comment was angry. Unusual and uncharacteristic, especially since both women always seemed to get along just fine.

“Don’t we all have our mysteries? The undisclosed desires and actions under wraps?“

“I guess we all do. Sorry, I’m still shaken.”

“I understand, don’t worry.” There was still some five minutes of the drive ahead, and Helena would hate to part on a sour note. “You have a lot on your plate, especially with how much you help out Sven.”

“Thank you, darling,” Grace sighed. “To be honest, I’m worried about the clinic. Sven needs someone to cover for Anna until we find a full-time replacement, and we can’t have the girls at the reception desk doing overtime for a month. But he doesn’t feel like recruiting now, and who can blame him?”

“I could help out,” Helena offered. “Not like I have anything better to do anyway. Small commissions won’t be taking too much of my time, and I can spare few hours every day to help.”

“Would you really?” Grace perked up. “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Sure, let’s get over the details after the funeral. I’ll be able to start next Tuesday.”

“We have the schedule fixed until the end of the month, but I'll be sure to ask if any of the girls would like to change her hours. And you could start a regular shift in May, just four or six hours a day, until we find someone.”

“Sure thing.”

Grace stopped by Bane’s cottage at Helena’s request and refused to go in for a cup of tea, excusing herself with her tiredness. Maybe it was for the better, the scribe thought, seeing how absorbed Bane was with his notes. She let herself in through the main entrance, the one either of them rarely used, which left her approaching Bane from the corridor. He was sitting with his back to her, fireplace blazing, a cup of tea on the table in front of him, along with some loose sheets of paper. He was scribbling something but stopped as soon as he felt Helena's palm slide over his shoulders.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Not yet. Did you wait with dinner?”

“I did.”

“That’s nice,” she said. 

Bane dropped his papers to the side when she circled the sofa and climbed on his lap. His lips stretched in an amused warm smile when Helena nuzzled the side of his neck, the sensation pleasantly tingling. 

“Your nose is cold.”

“I’m warm someplace else, wanna check?”

“Perhaps later.”

“What are you working on?”

“My hobby.”

She chuckled into his arm and straightened with a resigned sigh. 

“You’re incorrigible. Obsessed with a problem until it’s picked apart and explained in its entirety.”

“That’s… An accurate characteristic,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“Grace is very similar to you in that regard. She is so absorbed into the funeral arrangements she even started organising Sven’s clinic.”

“Did she?”

“Mhm. What's for dinner?” She slid away and went towards the kitchen, stretching arms over her back with a slight gasp.

“I’ve made curry. Rice is warm in the cooker.” 

Bane sat at the counter, watching Helena wash her hands, then ladle out the meal.

“So what's with the clinic, why does it need organising?”

“Anna used to help out at the reception desk, so now the rest of the girls have to juggle overtime to cover for her absence. I offered to help.”

“Indeed?”

Helena set the bowls on the table and slid out the cutlery drawer without looking.

“Grace was so tired with all the stuff she does, and then she started telling me how they have to find someone to take Anna's place. And of course, Sven is in no state to hire anyone at this point. So she said they had to find a way to fill the gap, but it is straining everyone, and she worried so much about it.”

“Did she say ‘we’ while talking about the clinic?” Bane asked before tucking into his meal. 

“Several times.” The spoon stilled midway to Helena's mouth, and she set in back in the bowl after a second. “Why?”

“She’s not working there. Nor is she an owner.”

“So what gives her the impulse, or the right to treat clinic affairs as her own?”

“As her’s and Sven’s.”

“They are pretty close.”

“Too close?”

“Hard to say.”

“Worth a check,” Bane said in the end.

“But not tonight,” Helena cautioned. “I require your assistance.”

Bane compiled, and let Helena snuggle with him on the couch watching a movie on Netflix.

But he was scribbling in his notes again when she left, barely raising his head when she said goodnight and lowered over him for a parting kiss.

oOo

The door opened almost noiselessly, the only sound disturbing the tranquillity of the living room was the seal hissing slightly when the door detached from the frame and a single squeal of the hinges. Helena expected to see Bane in the kitchen or reading on the sofa, but the whole room was dark. 

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” she yelled towards the corridor. “You missed the lunch hours, so it’s dinner time already!”

Perhaps he was asleep? Lately, he did have a habit of grabbing a few hours of sleep during the day. Helena knew it was because he could barely catch any rest at night, so she didn’t comment on that. Good thing he could get some respite at all.

She walked cautiously down the corridor, making sure she was as noisy as possible. 

“Are you in your bedroom?” she asked, the smile on her face transported in her voice. “If you are there won't be any more sleeping, you know that?”

She stopped just outside his door. Open. The bed was made and seemingly untouched, and the room looked neat and ordinary as ever. 

Helena frowned, looking around to see if anything at all was out of place. But no, save for the bizarre display just beyond the entrance it all seemed perfectly normal. 

With a sigh she neared the wall in the corridor, transferred by Bane into a repositorium of his knowledge over people present at the brunch. The information she offered was put down on the paper, the notes much more extensive than she first realised. He had researched those people in depth, and she wondered when and why. Certainly, she never told him when Magnus's birthday was, and yet that date was on a sheet of paper dedicated to the man, along with a picture of him, and even more notes. His family history, his education? Ties to Hanson’s and other people at the table? 

How did Bane know all that?

She inspected the papers, amazed at the intricate details and the insane attention to any possible links at all. There even was a sketch of the table itself, with the placement of guests and pencilled in numbers. Helena had five and nine, Bane eleven and ten. 

She wondered, what did it all mean?

The silence of the cottage felt oppressive all of a sudden. There was no one there. Only the wind blew at the wooden and concrete structure, making the roof moan slightly as it always did. It never bothered Helena before, but today it felt ominous. Foreboding.

Bane was nowhere in sight. 

Just to make sure, she inspected every nook and cranny, even those which she rarely visited. The boiler room, bathroom and toilet, laundry room and pantry. Last was Bane's study, converted from the old dining room, which he used mostly as a storage space for books and papers. Helena barely saw him work there, he mostly just sat in the living room. At least he did that whenever she was home with him.

There was no note anywhere, not in the kitchen, nor in her room, so with a shaky sigh she sat down by the dark fireplace and took out her phone.

No messages there either.

Bane was under ‘ICE Dorrance, Tony <3’ and she felt a pang of resentment that even in her own smartphone she couldn't just call him by his real name. But it was out of the question, and she understood of course. Still, it didn’t feel right.

When she dialled up, she heard the worst possible answer.

“The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please try again later.”

At that moment fear gripped her so harshly, Helena felt her chest tighten. 

What could have happened to him?


	3. Thumbing the Safety

The discovery of Bane’s absence shook Helena to her core.

Three hours later back in her own cottage, she was sitting in the kitchen with the lights out, nursing a lukewarm mug of tea. She tried calling Bane every fifteen minutes, to no avail. 

His car wasn’t in its parking spot, so that was at least somewhat reassuring. Perhaps his battery just ran out of juice, she thought. And he forgot his charger. And a power bank. And was somewhere where he couldn't buy any electronics. And he knew he would be back soon, so he didn't have to bother…

Feebly, Helena tried to calm herself down by noting when was the last time she saw him, and how much time passed between that and her first call. But it wasn’t very soothing. The last time she laid her eyes on Bane was the evening before, when he absentmindedly kissed her goodnight, working on some papers. She strolled to her cottage, worked some on her own writings, then sent him an email asking if he'd like to have breakfast at her place. He replied with a negative and then she just went to bed. And didn’t think to check in with him beyond texting him asking what's for lunch, over fifteen hours later. It was nearing seven in the afternoon now, and still Bane’s phone was turned off. 

The prospect of another five hours spent waiting to report him missing was torture. There was still hope he would come back, laughing that he accidentally put his phone down the toilet in a gas station somewhere, she reasoned. Or perhaps, he forgot to turn it on at all and was driving around with it silent in his pocket, not realising she might have been worried...

None of that sounded like Bane at all.

If his phone was off, he turned it off. Either voluntarily, or someone did it for him. His car wasn’t there, so the most possible scenario was that he drove somewhere where he didn't want to be disturbed. The alternative barely registered in Helena's head, but she dismissed it. For now. 

There was still hope it was just some kind of trivial misunderstanding.

Fighting the sinking feeling of panic clenching her stomach, she once again redialed Bane’s number.

The dull tone in the receiver made her jump to her feet, the joy of hearing it nearly ecstatic. 

She heard his voice after the third ring, and the relief washed over her with a palpable relaxing of muscles.

“Helena.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“When will you be home?”

“Sunday.”

“What?”

“I will be home on Sunday.”

“But that’s three days from now!”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am.”

“I see.” She was at a loss. “Why didn’t you pick up the call earlier?”

“I was on an airplane.”

“To where?”

“Not important,” he said. The dismissal was plain, and Helena frowned deeply, preparing for a discussion. But Bane had other plans, and he finished the talk with a simple, “I will see you soon.”

“Yeah, bye,” she mumbled to the phone and waited until she heard him cut the connection.

To say that the conversation was anticlimactic would be an understatement of the year. Bane was so matter of fact, so unaffected and crass it bordered on total indifference. 

Helena felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She chuckled darkly and bitterly when she noticed her hands were shaking, the tension of last hours leaving her in waves.

“What a fucking dick,” she shouted to the ceiling, banging her palms on the table.

The hit made her skin tingle and crawl, but physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil Bane just put her through. 

oOo

She watched Bane observe the crowd, himself a target of many not so subtle stares. He was very appropriate in an impeccably tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt and a simple grenadine tie. He even jested that he went out a few days back specifically to visit his tailor. It showed.

Back then she pretended to laugh as she took it for a joke, but now she wasn’t so sure. Whatever he did while away, one of those things was visiting with some kind of a tailor, and by the looks of it, a very experienced one. Unfortunately for Helena, he didn’t go see a florist; she could use a bouquet of flowers as an apology. But whatever he was doing while away, he didn’t feel in the slightest inclined to share with her, or indeed to express any remorse over worrying her.

When Helena woke up this Monday morning, she found a text from him, stating simply that he’ll come for breakfast before the funeral. Out of spite, she replied that he needn't bother. And he just accepted that, showing up only to escort her to his car. That of course infuriated her further.

Helena stewed in her own anger the whole morning and during the drive up to the chapel, and by the time they ended up here - gathered around the lowering casket - she felt ready to either scream or punch holes in walls with frustration.

Of course, she couldn’t do any of it. 

There were many people at the cemetery; kids from the school were the biggest group, but there were a plethora of faces Helena didn’t recognise. Working in her father’s clinic and local school made Anna a popular person, and Helena suspected that most of the community would mourn her death. She was at the front, close to Sven; all that help didn’t go unnoticed. Thankfully Grace took on herself directing everyone during the funeral, helping the doctor with mundane obligations and building order in the chaos of the mourning.

It hit Helena when the first lumps of soil hit shiny brown wood of the casket. The sadness of death. A person she knew, liked, talked with, laughed with - was laying there. A shell of that person, Helena reminded herself. Just like Bane would be lying under the rubble in Gotham, if his men wouldn’t get him out on time. Just a vessel that once carried the mind, and thoughts, and memories, all those things that make a person human.

Her chest convulsed in a sob, while she reflexively covered her mouth with a palm. 

Her child didn’t even have a coffin or a grave, she never really thought about it. Not a single thing to mark its existence, an almost life, snuffed before it could bloom and grow. There was only the memory of it, fleeting and unpleasant, and a note in some documents. A medical report and perhaps some papers of people who interrogated her. But there wasn't any one thing that commemorated its existence. All the possibilities that were killed before any could be even thought of.

She felt warm and robust arm circling her shoulders, and she pressed her face to Bane’s chest, surprised with the tidal wave of emotions washing over her. That sadness was like quicksand, all the more devastating if she resisted. So Helena let herself cry, safe in the knowledge that this moment was right for it. No one would ever question why tears were streaking down her face, and she never had to confess to anyone that she wasn’t mourning her friend, but she was finally saying farewell to her past.

But what would be her future?

oOo

The closest friends met at Sven’s house after the funeral. Grace told everyone that she wanted it to be a gathering in an American style, a potluck meal, unusual for Norway. But it was a good idea, something that would show the grieving father compassion and support of his closest friends in the most tangible way.

Helena baked a cake and made a casserole; seeing as Bane was absent for most of the preparations she covered for him. But he was perfectly informed and brought two different loaves of bread, big and crusty, giving off the aroma of herbs and home. 

He left her on the couch and went to help Grace with the food, organising cutlery and dishes on a big table in the kitchen. Helena saw some familiar faces, but her vision still swam with tears. The handkerchief she had in had was wet and crumpled.

“Here, something to pick you up,” Graham sat by her and handed her a glass. 

A martini, an old-fashioned version with lemon peel.

“Oh, vodka,” she moaned after taking a sip. “Thanks.”

“At your service.” His smile was easy to reciprocate and take comfort from. A father figure personified. What a contrast to Sven, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, staring dully ahead while Tirill stroked his hand and talked some nonsense softly in his ear.

But Graham didn’t lose anyone.

“I came unglued there for a little while,” Helena admitted sheepishly.

“That’s what funerals are for. It finally hit home, didn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

“It’s so surreal.” Graham shook his head, the silvery hair falling over his forehead in a boyish mess. He combed it back with his free palm, taking a big swig of his drink. “Just a week passed.”

“And the world is suddenly totally different.”

“But the same in many aspects. That's what makes it so weird. I can’t ever get used to death, not even after all those years,” he confessed.

Involuntarily Helena remembered a piece of information from Bane. Graham worked for CIA. Surely he must have been used to reports of death, and his subordinates either dealt the killings or have been assassinated themselves. 

Was he playing a game?

The last thought made her gulp down whole drink at once. 

If anyone was playing today, it was her. There was not a slice of care in her over Anna's death. Boom, just like that her friend was gone. But she made a show of herself weeping, and only she knew it was over something entirely different. An ancient affair, long finished and forgotten. So, maybe she shouldn't be so judgemental towards others, she thought bitterly.

“Another one?” She asked Graham with a smile.

By her fifth drink, the mourning turned into reminiscing, and some quiet giggles could be heard here and there. Helena was in the middle of a very juicy story about Anna, animatedly presented by equally tipsy Jack when she felt someone standing behind her.

It was Sven.

The laughter died on her lips, and Jack turned beet red with embarrassment.

“No, please, continue,” he said. “We’re here to remember how she lived.” His voice crackled with the last word. “She did love life.”

“That’s right,” Helena agreed. “She even stole a boyfriend from me once.”

“Only once?” Jack asked, confusion evident on her face. She knew precisely, of course.

“Well, maybe three times,” Helena waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “The point is, I’m not the one to hold a grudge, and she did know how to enjoy herself. And I think we all should try to do that too, while we still can.”

“Just don’t drink too much,” Sven cautioned, eyeing her glass. “Liver.”

“I have one,” Helena nodded. “It’s nicely patched up, and I’m good.”

“How many drinks did you have?” The doctor asked, focusing on her fully. 

“Not nearly enough to have this conversation again.”

“As your physician, I would recommend-”

“Stop,” she shoved her palm right before his face. “This is not the time, nor a place for it,” she slurred.

“Don’t let her have another one,” Sven ordered Jack before he left them.

The girl shrugged and turned back to the scribe.

“Am I in power to stop you?”

“Nope.”

With that, she moved towards Graham, who as usual was beside the liquor cabinet. He smiled at her when she approached with careful steps.

“Coffee time?”

“Not yet, I think I’ll have just a swig of this before I’m ready to go.” A charming smile was all the warning the man got before she gently wrapped her fingers around his glass. She took a dainty sip of the amber liquid. “Whisky?”

“Bourbon,” he corrected with a resigned sigh. His eyes slid off her momentarily. “Why don’t you give it back?”

“Yes, why don't you?” Bane's voice came from behind her. A second later she felt him press to her from behind, wrapping his palm around her hand, directing it towards Graham. 

The men exchanged knowing looks, leaving Helena frowning between them. 

She felt like a child, reprimanded, shrugged off and belittled. The last one quite literally, since they both were towering over her.

“Let’s get you back home,” Bane offered, in a tone that didn't leave a hair of doubt that it wasn’t in fact, an offer at all, but a non-debatable order. “I’d hate to see you suffer tomorrow.”

She bit the inside of her cheek not to start screaming with frustration again, sent strained smiles when he pushed her out, and let him sit her in the car.

oOo

For once, Helena managed not only to stay truly silent during most of the ride, but also to rile Bane up. He was pretending as long as they were with other people, but as soon as city lights dimmed behind them, the road framed by trees stretching in a dark and thin winding line before him, he let his anger show.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, nothing. I didn’t go away on some mysterious trip who-knows-where. I just stayed at home, like an obedient little doggy waiting for its master. I’m fine.”

Sighing deeply he trained his steely gaze firmly on the road ahead.

“I told you, I went to see my tailor.”

“Sure.” 

She bristled at Bane just ignoring her quip at being his pet. Not even worth a reaction, she thought bitterly. 

None of them spoke for another while, letting all the bad feelings grow and rot.

He parked in the usual spot by his cottage.

“You know, it’s really ungentlemanly to make me go all the way to my place in those heels. But no matter, I’ll be okay.” She spilt out of the car and swayed a bit on the grit covering the driveway.

“What are you talking about now?” He got out and shut the door, then ran one hand over his eyes in a tired motion.

“Well, big guy, I’m living there,” she pointed to her cottage, “not here. So that means I’ll have to go all the way there, which I will be doing right now.”

“Helena…”

“No, watch me.” She made some over dramatic steps down the pathway. “See?” 

He just stood there, wordlessly observing how she made a fool of herself. 

“Thanks for the lovely afternoon!” She mockingly shouted over her shoulder, sniggered, and then tripped and nearly fell down the slope. High heels were far from ideal to move about shifting grovel. 

She sobered a bit on the tarmac, and some more when she had to focus climbing wooden and then stone steps up to her door.

If she’d had to be honest with herself, Helena was sad more than anything. Bane just disappeared, and then came back like it meant nothing, the fact that she worried about him brushed off as easily as if it never existed. And then he had the audacity to correct her, to have her be more appropriate, all under the guise of caring for her health. 

Stupid, arrogant fucker.

The door opened with a soft click, but it was a bit unfamiliar now, going back in the middle of the night. She did it enough to know the drill and have a scheme, but it has been so long since her last nightly excursion, the whole ordeal felt more surreal than anything else. 

Shoes went first, neatly positioned by the door, even though she dangerously swayed while putting them there. Then, she hung her coat with slow and deliberate movements and went to the bathroom. Where was her purse? She shrugged, thinking whoever found it wouldn’t stand to gain much anyway. The more pressing matter now were the missing cotton pads. Did she run out? Did she bring all of her supply to Banes? She frowned, lathering her eyes with the lotion. She would have to do with toilet paper. Good thing that was still here in surplus, she idly noted.

Next on the agenda was a trip to the kitchen.

With careful steps she descended, keeping a tight hold on the railing, just in case. Now only to get a bottle of water to her bedside, and climb all the way up to the mezzanine to get there. Not to think how much easier it would be to have Bane help her up, or better yet, be with him in that one-storey wonder. 

No, Helena reminded herself sternly, she could do it in her sleep if need be. Some water to carry wouldn't hinder her moves. Easy-peasy. 

She opened the fridge, and her eyes settled on a rectangular bottle with a deep emerald label. A slow grin spread on her features, an uncanny sight in the sharp refrigerator light. But she was alone. No one to tell her she should consider the state of her liver before having another drink.

There wasn’t any tonic, but she had a lemon and some herbs. All ingredients on the table, she picked a glass and filled it with ice. Then she squeezed the lemon into the shaker, added quite a lot of alcohol and then remembered she was meant to muddle mint with some powdered sugar. She frowned and decided to do that straight in the glass she wanted to drink it from. Who was to know anyway, the point was to make the drink tasty, not to dazzle herself with sophisticated technique. 

She chucked the ice into the shaker and worked on the herbs when she heard knocking at the door upstairs.

“Fun-fucking-tastic,” she muttered. 

Quickly she swooshed the liquid into the glass, then returned it to the shaker and turned to add some more crushed ice back to the glass.

Meanwhile, Bane must have let himself in. She heard nothing after a soft click of the lock, which was telling in and of itself. No one ever was as silent as him.

The rattle of ice bouncing off metal filled the dark space of the kitchen.

She heard a sigh on the stairs.

Yup, it had to be Bane.

Turning her back to the entrance Helena carefully poured her gin sour through the strainer. There wasn’t enough time to admire its daffodil-like yellow paleness or a subtle lace of froth clinging to the rim. She downed half in one gulp.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

She snorted and swigged another gulp.

“Stop it,” Bane hissed. 

She felt the glass being tugged away, but she didn't want to let go. He yanked hard, spilling its contents on the table and floor. Solid bottom of the glass thudded on the wooden top when he angrily put it down. 

She wondered what it would take for him to ram it down and smash it into million sparkling pieces. Apparently, he wasn’t all too angry just yet.

“You took away my drink again,” she complained. “What do I do now to entertain myself?”

“Go to sleep,” he suggested. 

She smiled. She saw right through his facade of false calmness. 

“But I don’t wanna,” she babbled and stepped towards him. “I wanna drink.” She smiled into his neck. He smelled so nice, and she was worried about him, and then he was an utter and total dick. “And I wanna fuck,” she muttered into his shirt, like a petulant child asking for ice-cream before dinner.

“Tomorrow, when you’re sober.” With a free hand, he tiredly rubbed his eyes once again.

“Oh no, no, no, darling.” Her arms straightened and she leaned back to squint up at him. “You were once pretending to be a big scary mercenary,” she said, giggling over her wording, poking his chest with her index finger. “Now, I like the way you usually are, but not tonight.” One of her palms patted his cheek, and she giggled again when he covered her hand with his and moved it gently back down to his chest.

“No?”

“Oh no, tonight I’m angry at you,” she confessed, leaning closer conspiratorially. His chest was immense and warm, and she wanted nothing more than just curl around him right then.

“For taking care of you?”

That returned some of her ire. Right, he was under the impression he was acting for her own good. Like she couldn’t decide for herself. Like she didn’t matter.

“Maybe.” With a pout, she slid to the side. Her legs tangled and in the last moment, she caught herself on the table. 

Bane scoffed impatiently over her head and tugged her towards himself, intent on getting her upstairs.

“Come back home.”

“But I am home.” She stubbornly held tight on the table and refused to move along with Bane’s arm. “If you wanna stay in my house you will have to pay. With your body.” Another giggle escaped her lips.

Bane didn’t chuckle in return. He stared at her in that measuring cold glare she once knew oh so well. 

That was exactly what she wanted from him.

“So, big guy? Are you staying, or are you too afraid of yourself and wanna go back home?” She mocked poking his chest with her finger again, making sure the nail pressed firmly into the scar tissue each time. 

He didn't flinch, but the muscles vibrated with barely held back growl when he spoke.

“Stop it.”

“Uh-huh,” she shook her head. “Make me.”

One eyebrow cocked he watched her pensively for a while. Helena swayed slightly on her heels and blinked slowly.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup.” The nod made her a bit dizzy, so she tried to focus on the neat row of buttons before her eyes.

“You should go to sleep.”

“You shouldn’t have kidnapped me,” she parried immediately. Then she shrugged as if it was just another little misstep. “But here we are.”

She saw his irritation in little gestures he didn’t have under control and probably didn’t realise it. The mask wasn’t there, so now even though his eyes seemed predatory and focused, she clearly saw how his luscious lips thinned, how his nostrils flared for a second when she said something that made him angry. He even was a tad flushed.

“You’re not very appealing in this state,” he said.

“You think that now, but you didn’t have a chance to really see the difference. I’m pretty lose while under the influence.”

“This conversation is pointless,” he sighed, yet again rubbing his eyes. “Get upstairs, sleep it off, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Helena grinned and strolled over to the other side of the table, grabbing the gin on her way there.

“Don’t,” Bane warned.

She licked her lips and relished the anger she could clearly see in his posture. 

“Put the bottle down, Helena,” he growled.

Cold liquid barely touched her tongue when he lunged forward to take it away. The glass shattered on the floor, the sound loud and uncomfortable, followed closely by Helena’s laugh. Then, she yelped and squealed, and laughed some more as Bane twisted her round and pressed to the surface of the table. Head down, his palm kept her flush to the wood with steady pressure between her shoulder blades. The other hand held her wrists together at the top of her butt. 

“What are you going to do now?” she mocked him again.

“Why are you doing this?” Bane asked calmly.

Helena’s eyes narrowed, focusing on his question.

“I want you as you were back then. If you behave the way you did in Armenia, make it fit all the way. You can’t be nice one day and then a dick the other, you know.”

“Explain.”

“What's there to explain? You go away without a word, come back without a word, expect me to just shrug and accept it without a word. I can't.“ Forehead pressed to the table she drew in a steadying breath. “I won't.”

The hand splayed at her shoulder blades shifted, tracing a warm path down to her hips. 

“So instead of talking it over you’d rather make a scene.”

An angry huff she released didn't impress Bane, neither her stubborn yank at his palms. His hold was secure and anything but gentle. For a while he closed his eyes, swallowing a groan when her hips shifted, her ass pressed to his abdomen. 

Helena could feel his tension.

“I'm not making a scene,” she argued, just to make him more irritated.

“Oh, but you are,” he chided. His voice gained a chilly undertone, one that sent a shiver down Helena's back. “You expect me to react to your taunts, and behave a certain way. I could. What then? Am I forgiven, if I fuck you? Is that all it takes?”

She gritted her teeth in annoyance. 

“No.”

“Why do you do this, then?” He was so calm and collected, it flayed Helena's nerves raw.

“It's the only way I can feel I matter to you,” she spat. A cruel thing to say, but then again not the worst she ever told him. Certainly not untrue.

The admission resulted in Bane letting go. Helena stayed pressed to the table for a while, collecting her thoughts, body taut with tension, ready to recoil at any moment. 

Noiselessly, Bane moved to stand by the stairs. She saw him look down at her before he sighed and went up. 

What a fucking disaster, she thought bitterly. 

Feeling in her cheek was dulled from continued pressure, the ache between her legs didn't yet subside. Her skin tingled, hypersensitive to temperature and touch. Briefest contact with anything felt like a caress, but at the same time, she knew nothing would bring relief.

Navigating carefully through shattered glass, she slowly climbed up, not bothering to mop up the mess or even turn off the light. 

Maybe this venture into a relationship was doomed from the very beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> I bet you guys didn't expect that, huh? ;) Next chapter will be here presently. I have to work on the Christmas fic a bit, but it should be posted in another week, I think.


End file.
